


Of Fruitful Endeavours

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco runs into someone who gives him a new perspective on life and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Fruitful Endeavours

**Author's Note:**

> **Challenge:** Written for the 2016 Spring Intoabar Challenge.   
>  Prompt: Draco Malfoy walks into a bar and meets…Ichabod Crane (Sleepy Hollow, TV).
> 
> **Characters:** Draco Malfoy, Ichabod Crane, (Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy).
> 
> **Author’s notes:** Contains spoilers for the season finale of Sleepy Hollow (for those who may not have watched it yet).   
>  *Ichabod pronounces the word lieutenant as 'lefttenant'.   
> Thanks to my betas, Sevfan and Emynn for looking this over for me.   
> And, as always, nothing you recognize is mine.

~

Of Fruitful Endeavours

~

“You’re impossible! I can’t talk to you when you’re being like this!” Turning on his heel, Draco marches to the door and slams outside, striding away from the flat as rapidly as he can. He knows he’s difficult for Harry to keep up with at the best of times, so unless Harry decides to resort to magic, there’s no way he’ll catch him. 

Once around the corner, Draco ducks into an alley (damn Harry for insisting they live in a sodding Muggle neighbourhood) and he Apparates away. 

He ends up in Kensington, where he starts to stroll absently, ignoring the Muggles milling around him. He’s seething, his mind spinning as he relives the argument in his mind. He knows Harry knows how he feels about him. Why should he have to actually say it?

With no definite destination in mind, Draco blinks when he finds himself standing in front of a small pub he’s never seen before, for all that he has frequented this neighbourhood before many times. 

Deciding he could use a drink, Draco pushes inside.

The interior is dim, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. There are patrons scattered all over, but just one lone drinker at the tiny bar. With a mental shrug, Draco approaches. He starts to sit at the far end, but another man chooses that moment to stumble towards the bar and, in a split-second decision, Draco decides to sit closer to the quiet, lone drinker. At least he seems less likely to spill his drink all over Draco, as opposed to the weaving drunkard. 

As Draco slides onto a stool, the other man looks over and up at him. He’s attractive, hair chin length, his eyes a piercing blue. His dress is rather old-fashioned, and Draco idly wonders if the man is some sort of English civil war reenactor or something. His frock coat would be at home in a wizarding home. 

Perhaps he’s magical? There’s something about him, something that tells Draco this man has seen magic. 

“What’ll you have?” asks the bartender, interrupting Draco’s thoughts.

“Fire— I mean whisky. Neat.” 

The other man has gone back to contemplating his drink, the slump in his shoulders all but shouting his dejection. 

When his drink is placed before him, Draco swallows it, coughing as it burns down his throat. 

“A sounder strategy may be if you try sipping the next one,” the man says, looking over again. 

Draco nods, pushing away the glass and signalling the bartender for another. “That’s the plan. I just had to get a good head start. The rest I’ll probably take my time with.” 

“Ah. There is a method to your madness, then, it seems.” The man hesitates, then offers his hand. “Ichabod Crane. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

There’s something charmingly old-fashioned about him. Draco accepts his hand, shakes it. “Draco Malfoy. Of the Wiltshire Malfoys.” 

Crane smiles faintly. “I have never visited Wiltshire. Perhaps I shall attempt to see it during this trip.” He sighs, seemingly about to return to his drink contemplation. 

Moved by some obscure impulse, Draco says, “Not that it’s my business, but, you seem upset. Would you like to talk about it?” 

Crane laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “I do not think you would believe me if I told you.”

Draco narrows his eyes, his Auror instincts on alert. “Try me,” he says. “I think you’d be surprised at what I’d believe.” 

Crane pauses, hesitant. Clearly choosing his words carefully, he says, “Believe it or not, there are strange creatures in this world, Mr Malfoy. Evil, dark beings that seek the demise of every living person on earth. I have seen these dark vessels of nightmare, and I suspect they would make your hair curl and your skin crawl.” 

Draco leans forward. “Tell me,” he says. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he grasps his wand. If Crane has seen magic…Well, it’s not as if he’d be the first Muggle Draco’s Obliviated. 

“In my experience, people in this age choose to place their belief in science rather than magic or demons. It was easier when I was—” Crane pauses. “Pardon me. I imagine it was easier in times past, when the populace knew that evil existed. Then, should someone claim to have seen a demon, most would shake their heads, but on some level would believe.” 

Draco shivers, going cold. “Demons? You’ve seen actual demons?” 

Crane sighs. “Many times. Believe me or do not, but we have waged war against many creatures that can only be classified as hellspawn.”

Relaxing his hold on his wand, Draco finishes his second drink and signals the bartender for another. “We?” he asks. 

“Ah, directly to the crux of the matter.” Crane narrows his eyes. “Are you, by any chance, employed in law enforcement?” 

Draco smiles. “You’re pretty perceptive, Crane. Yes I am.” 

Crane looks stricken, his spine straightening as if he’d been Petrified. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco sits up, on alert. “What is it?”

“That is what _she_ calls me,” Crane whispers. “ _Called_ me.”

“She?” Of course there’s a woman.

“Abbie. My fellow Witness…partner. Lieutenant* Abbie Mills.” Crane’s hand is shaking as he reaches for his glass. He laughs mirthlessly. “She is…was American. She always chided me for the way I pronounced her title, but secretly I know she appreciated it.” 

Partner. Not lover, that much is clear. There is a wealth of emotion in his words, however. The relationship is obviously complicated. Complicated is something Draco understands. He nods. “Did she—?”

“She has passed on from this life, yes.” Crane downs his drink, gestures for another. “And I could not have wished for a braver companion. She died as she lived, fearlessly, sacrificing her life to save the worl— her friends. And to my regret, I never got the chance to tell her how much her friendship and companionship meant to me.” 

Draco blinks. “I’m sorry. My condolences. This was in America?” 

“Thank you. And yes, it was. After her death I had to escape, come back to England for a time. But I shall return to America soon enough to continue my work, albeit without her. Like it or not, it is my home now.” 

“So you’re on holiday?” 

Crane nods. Accepting the glass from the bartender, he drinks. “Of a sort. Have you ever lost a partner in your line of work, Mr Malfoy?”

Suppressing the automatic atavistic shiver that goes down his spine, Draco shakes his head. “No…” He pauses. “Although my current partner has died. Once.” 

“Has he really?” Crane shifts, facing him. “This sounds like an interesting tale. I should be pleased to hear it.” 

“I suppose it is interesting.” Draco hums. “And in a way it may give you hope for your friend.” He exhales, tries to watch his words, but the alcohol is making it difficult to focus. “We were just kids,” he says. “We were in school together. A…person attacked the school to try to get at my partner, kill him, only we weren’t partners then, we were rivals. It was politics in a way. My family supported the attacker who, well, who killed my partner’s family when he was just a baby.” Merlin, when he puts it like that it sounds horrible. Why does Harry have anything to do with him? “It was…complicated.” 

“Indeed.” Crane doesn’t cringe, he simply nods. “I understand complications, particularly political ones. Do go on.” 

“Well, the creat—man, let’s call him V, demanded my partner turn himself over to him, or everyone would die.” Draco shakes his head. “And you’d have to know Harry, but he’d give his right arm to save someone, anyone, so it took him no time at all to make that decision. He slipped away from his friends to make the sacrifice.” 

“He sounds remarkably like the lieutenant. She would take similar action.” 

They share a rueful smile. “Anyway,” continues Draco, “V attacked my partner in a way that should have killed him outright.”

“But it did not?” Crane says.

“Not permanently.” Draco shrugs. “I don’t know if you believe in the afterlife, but he claims he went there. And was given a choice about whether or not to return. He chose to come back, obviously, and he was young at the time, eighteen. Not everyone’s given a choice, I imagine, but—” 

“You believe the lieutenant could have been presented with a similar choice and may be on her way back to this plane of existence?” Crane shakes his head. “Her demise occurred almost two weeks ago. I fear it is not about to be reversed. How long was your partner gone before he returned?” 

Draco frowns as he tries to remember what Harry said. “He said it seemed like hours to him, but according to my moth— witnesses, only seconds passed here.” 

Crane purses his lips. “Indeed. It is said time may move at different speeds on different planes of existence.” He contemplates his glass again, swirling the amber liquid. “The lieutenant left behind a family, a father and a sister, and friends, all of whom have made their peace with her passing. I do not believe they would welcome my attempting to revive their hope should there be no chance of recovering her.” 

“How do you know there’s no hope unless you try?” Draco asks. 

“I do not.” Crane smiles. “You know, Mr Malfoy, you are correct. There is no greater certainty than if we do not try, then we do not succeed.” Crane downs the last of his drink. “And what of you? It seems clear that you, too, have cares of your own. Do you wish to speak of them, unburden yourself to a fellow life traveller?” 

Draco blinks. Given what Crane is going through, his fight with Harry seems petty, stupid now. Plus, Harry’s right. “Thanks,” he says, “but maybe not. If it’s all the same to you, I think I may just go and tell my partner how grateful I am to have him.” 

“This man, he is more than just a work partner, is he not? He is a life partner as well?” Crane smiles knowingly as Draco blushes. 

“How did you know?” 

“Some things, Mr Malfoy, are obvious.” 

“I guess they are.” Draining his glass, Draco stands, as does Crane. “Thanks, Crane,” he says, offering his hand. 

“Thank you.” Crane takes it. “This has been a rousing chat, but I believe I have research to do back in my chambers. Because you are correct, Mr Malfoy. Just because the lieutenant’s family does not believe she can return to us does not preclude the possibility.” 

“And I have some apologizing to do,” Draco admits. “Good luck.” 

Cranes smiles. “I wish us both Godspeed. May our endeavours on this and on the days to come be fruitful. It was a pleasure, Mr Malfoy.”

“Likewise, Mr Crane.” Draco signals the bartender one last time, and when he brings the bill, Draco hands him some Muggle money. “I’d like to pay for Mr Crane’s drinks as well,” he says. 

Crane tries to protest, but Draco insists, and after only a moment, Crane stops protesting. “Far be it from me to interfere with such a generous gesture,” he says. “I am much obliged. My thanks.” 

Bill settled, they exit the pub together and, inclining his head as if to tip a hat he’s not currently wearing, Crane starts off across the street, a moment later disappearing inside the door of a nearby hotel. 

Turning on his heel, Draco hurries to the closest alleyway, and, after making sure no Muggles are around, he Apparates, appearing before the flat he shares with Harry. 

Bounding up the stairs, he bursts inside, obviously startling Harry, who’s kneeling before the Floo, no doubt commiserating about him with Weasley or Granger or both. 

Harry blinks up at him. “I have to go, Hermione,” he says. Standing up, he cuts Granger off mid-word when he closes the Floo. “What’s wrong?” he asks, searching Draco’s face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“No ghost.” Draco exhales. “But as for what’s wrong…it’s me. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.” 

Harry’s mouth works for a moment. “I’ve never heard you never admit that before,” he whispers. 

Draco sighs. “That’s because I hate admitting it. But I don’t want there to be any doubts between us about how I feel. Something could happen to one of us tomorrow, and if it did, I’d want you to know I lo—”

Harry pulls him into his arms. “I know,” he says softly. “I love you, too.” 

Draco smirks into his neck. “I know.” 

Harry laughs. “How much do you love me?” he asks, nuzzling Draco’s jaw.

To the next world and beyond. The words tingle on the tip of Draco’s tongue, but he swallows them. Perhaps later. But not too much later. 

He draws back. “Let me show you,” he purrs instead, pulling Harry towards the bedroom. And afterwards, as he lies in Harry’s arms, everything finally open between them, Draco thinks about Ichabod Crane, silently wishing him well.

~


End file.
